Through Different Eyes

by Karen Charleson

  When she was taking care of Jasmine day and night, Brenda found it easy to forget that the child even had a father. Jasmine was her baby; that was clear. She belonged to her and her family. Time passed quickly without her having to think of anything more complicated than running low on clean diapers. Before Brenda even noticed, school was out. Her father was mostly fishing. Junior was back out with him as a deckhand on the Queen. Thomas, Becky, and Millie were home in the daytime. The girls were especially eager to hold and watch Jasmine, and to tag along beside Brenda whenever she went for long walks. As fussy as Jasmine could be in the house, she always settled down when taken outside.

  When Tom and her sisters started attending the summer recreation program organized by the village summer students — Sarah, her old bus partner, was the Youth Recreation Supervisor — Brenda and her mother took Jasmine for walks. Those were Brenda’s favourite times. Some days they walked up to the lake or out to Jimmy’s Store and along the river there; other days they strolled down to Village Beach and across the expanse of sand and stones towards Kitsum Point. Jasmine slept the entire time, held firmly against Brenda or her mother’s chest by the heavy cloth baby carrier. Invariably, the moment they re-entered the house, they would see that the infant was suddenly awake. Awake and starving. Ruby said that she had not done so much walking since she was a teenager; she joked that becoming a grandmother was getting her back into shape.

  On mornings when her mother let her sleep in, Brenda knew that was how she quieted Jasmine. Ruby would walk her granddaughter around the outside of the house and down the road to the hill and back. Some days, she walked her all the way to the fishermen’s floats. Early in the morning — the sun was just beginning to light up the spruce trees outside her bedroom window — her mother would tiptoe into her room and retrieve the baby as soon as Brenda had finished feeding her. If her father had been home the night before, he would have already left for fishing. If he had not been home — if he had anchored the Queen near the fishing grounds and stayed there for the night — her mom would be up anyway. It made sense for Ruby to take Jasmine while Brenda got a little more sleep. It did not take too many mornings before Brenda began waiting expectantly for her mother to come into the bedroom.

  “She’s hungry again by 7:30 or 8:00,” her mother said to her over lunch one day.

  “Just bring her back up,” Brenda retorted quickly. What was the problem?

  “I did that today and you were snoring. You didn’t even hear us.” Her mother tried to laugh, but Brenda got the message.

  “Just wake me up, for heaven’s sake,” she snapped. Why did her mother tell her to get her sleep, when she didn’t really think that she should sleep?

  Then there was the morning that Jasmine would not stop crying. Brenda, after a nighttime feeding, had decided to put her daughter into the unused crib. Jasmine awoke screaming. Brenda was still wrapped in her dreams. Maybe Jasmine would stop on her own, she thought blurrily, if she just left her alone. Brenda dozed; Jasmine cried.

  There was no tiptoeing that morning. Her mother all but ran into her bedroom. She said not a word to Brenda, but scooped Jasmine from the crib and began to soothe her. Brenda ignored the pair of them and went back to sleep. When she awoke again, the sun was already above the top of her windowsill, which in the summertime meant that it was already after nine o’clock. The house was silent. Suddenly she was afraid. She raced downstairs to the kitchen. There at the table, Ruby was holding Jasmine and feeding her a bottle of formula. The public health nurse and her mother had both talked about “expressing” breast milk for those times when she was away from her baby, but she had barely tried. The whole idea of milking herself like some cow was just too strange, and somehow just plain unnatural.

  Brenda felt ashamed. She knew that she should have gotten up, but almost as soon as she had thought that, she had reasoned that her mother was there. It was not as though she had left Jasmine on her own. Hell, if she had been the only one home, she would have been up no matter how exhausted she had been. Everything was all right. Her mother and her baby both looked content. Standing in the kitchen doorway, she had to admit that she felt pretty good herself. It was the most sleep she had gotten in months.

  “She likes the bottle?” she asked tentatively.

  “Seems to.” Her mother did not attempt to pass the baby to her.

  From a distance, Brenda could see her mother assuming more and more responsibility for Jasmine. Though right up close, she felt powerless to stop it. The little bit of freedom her mother’s responsibility afforded Brenda was too dear, too tempting to give up. Besides, with her father out fishing and the kids at the summer program, her mother had the time. After all, she was the expert. She was used to giving constant care. Things would change again in the fall.

  One day in mid-July, Brenda stayed home with Jasmine while the rest of her family went to Campbell River. Her father and Junior had delivered a load of fish. They wanted to drive over to Campbell River to pick up more gear and supplies for the Queen. Would they all like to go along and do some grocery shopping, her dad had asked her mother. Even before her mother answered, Millie started jumping up and down. How she had heard her father’s quiet question from across the room, Brenda could not imagine. That little girl had ears like no one else. Ruby hesitated. There was no longer room in the truck for everyone, not with the car seat taking up an extra space.

  “I’ll stay home.” Brenda tried to sound as though she actually liked the idea. “I’ll stay,” she repeated. “Me and Jazz.”

  She could almost hear her mother’s gratitude.

  Brenda forced herself to fully wake up when Jasmine first cried early that morning. She fed her, changed her diaper and clothes, and only then heard her mother moving around in the kitchen below. It would be good to spend a couple of days alone with her daughter. It would be relaxing to not have her mother’s intentional and unintentional vigilance. It would be a relief to not have Becky and Millie asking to hold Jasmine, at least for a little while.

  Her mother hugged her hard before she left the house. Everyone else was already in the truck. She was thrilled to be going to town, Brenda realized. She was just like Millie or Becky. Brenda realized that her mother must be tired herself, and that looking after Jasmine must be wearing her out. It was just as well that she had some time away.

  The first few hours passed smoothly. Jasmine ate again and fell back asleep. Brenda toyed with the idea of going back to bed, but decided to drink a few cups of coffee instead. She did the dishes that she had told her mother to just leave in the sink. She was about to go upstairs to try on the jeans and blouse that Monica had brought when Jazz awoke, screaming in hunger. She still could not believe how much this baby ate. Not every four hours, or every two hours, or every anything. She wanted to eat all the time. Brenda changed Jasmine’s diaper as quickly as possible and collapsed with her onto the couch. So much for trying on clothes; she was going to be stuck here for a while. She flicked the television set on and frowned at a game show — there was nothing worth watching at that time of morning — before putting Jazz to her breast. In between sniffles, the baby ate ravenously.

  One show ended and another replaced it. Brenda tried to remove Jasmine, but instantly the child resumed her sucking motions. What the hell, Brenda thought, I have all day. She settled into watching a pair of families compete over answers to silly questions. Each time she attempted to put Jasmine down, the baby hung on. She could have sworn that Jasmine knew that the two of them were by themselves in the house.

  By lunchtime, Brenda was growing desperate. She left the infant, protected by pillows, alone on the couch for only a few minutes in order to use the bathroom, and the little girl howled the entire time that she was gone. Brenda knew that she could bundle her daughter up or put her in the carrier and take her for a walk. That would certainly calm her down. Except that was what Brenda always did. This was supposed to be a “special�
� day for them together, a day not like every other day. Instead of going outside, Brenda walked Jasmine through the kitchen and living room, down the short hallway to Ruby and Martin’s bedroom, and even onto the covered back porch. All the while, she explained to her daughter “this is where Grandma sleeps, this is where we have a bath, this is where we wash our clothes.” Brenda actually enjoyed the game for a while, especially as Jazz kept quiet. Was she really listening to her? Up the stairs she took her, into all of the rooms, explaining everything.

  The whole house tour — even repeated twice — took under half an hour. As soon as it was complete, Jasmine resumed her fussiness. Brenda was already tired and the afternoon had only just begun. It was nearly suppertime when she thought of giving Jasmine a bottle. They had counselled her at the hospital about using supplemental bottles of formula; they had told her how it was not advised in the first few weeks because it interfered with her own breast milk coming in. Jasmine was already over a month old, and there was nothing wrong with Brenda’s breast milk supply. Besides, the hospital had included bottles of formula in both of the gift kits that they had given her when she was leaving.

  She did not remember Millie having a bottle, but then, she could not recall Millie eating all the time like Jasmine did either. She had babysat for people and given bottles to their babies, and she recalled that Marcie had fed Gabriel from the bottle right from the start. Heck, anytime Brenda was at the hall for a dinner or event, mothers (and grandmothers and cousins and other relations) were feeding babies with bottles.

  She went to the cupboard and found the formula on the top shelf alongside packages of dry beans. Some of the ready-made bottles were missing. They must have disappeared during those long morning sleeps. If her mother could give Jasmine a bottle, Brenda could give her one too.

  Brenda warmed the formula slightly and then watched her daughter gulp it down. Jazz definitely had experience. She had no trouble at all. The formula disappeared quickly and just as quickly, Jasmine was asleep. Soundly asleep too. For the first time that day, Brenda was able to put her down with some confidence that she would remain sleeping.

  She no longer felt like trying on clothes. She no longer had energy enough for a bath or even a shower. She rummaged through the cupboards looking for something to eat. She felt like having chips or a chocolate bar, and of course there were no such treats to be found. Jimmy’s store was too far away, and besides, she could not be bothered. She opened a package of biscuits, made tea, then sat at the table, sipping and chewing, sipping and chewing.

  The ringing phone woke up Jasmine. Holding her again in one arm, Brenda stood and answered. It was Ruby, phoning to check up on her and her granddaughter. Before she had even finished asking, Jasmine had started to scream again. “The phone woke her, Mom.” Brenda had to raise her voice to be heard.

  Her mother apologized profusely. Then she asked Brenda if she wanted anything from town.

  “Formula.” Brenda spoke loudly. “Get Jazz some formula. She won’t stop eating.”

  Within a week and a half, Jasmine was almost completely bottle-fed. Brenda noted with pride that she continued to grow and thrive. Her daughter also began to sleep for extended stretches of time and was content for longer periods between feedings. For the night, all Brenda had to remember was to bring an extra bottle upstairs and leave it beside her bed. Then when Jazz woke up hungry, she would just reach over and feed it to her. Jasmine even seemed to sleep a little later in the mornings. At least that is what Brenda told herself whenever she heard her mother come into her room to bring the baby downstairs.

  TWENTY-THREE

  It was after school let out and she had all day to herself that Monica’s waiting became truly painful. Michael continued working at construction. She took to visiting Ruby early in the mornings. Martin would invariably be out fishing, Brenda would still be sleeping, and Ruby would be in the kitchen, usually with Jasmine. Monica would hold the sleeping child, or rock her when she was awake. Some days, she took turns with her sister, walking her around the small kitchen.

  From Ruby, she got daily reports on how much Jasmine was eating and sleeping, and even how many diapers she was dirtying. Every day Monica hoped that Ruby would tell her that Brenda had decided that she and Michael could visit and every day Ruby said nothing. It always seemed that before Monica was quite ready to part with Jasmine she would hear stirrings from upstairs — the sounds of taps being turned on and the toilet flushing. Whenever she heard those sounds, Monica would feel like some criminal sneaking around and would leave the house before Brenda came downstairs.

  “When is she going to let you see Jasmine?” she lamented.

  “Give her time, for Chrissakes,” Michael snapped at her late one Saturday morning. Monica had woken up with the notion that it would be the perfect day for the two of them to visit Ruby’s.

  “She’s had lots of time, Michael. Jasmine is getting bigger every day and you’re missing that.”

  Monica did not often misread Michael, but she did that morning. When he shook his head, she interpreted it not as disapproval of her statement, but as a sign that he was giving up on seeing the baby. He had not wanted to be a father in the first place, she thought bitterly. Now the split with her family was going to become permanent. “She has no right to keep Jasmine from you!”

  “She has every right in the world.”

  “Maybe if you gave a shit…” Monica knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon as the words left her mouth, but she could not take them back. Michael’s eyes narrowed. For a fraction of a second, Monica wondered if he would strike her. He stared at her for an excruciatingly long moment.

  “Look, I didn’t mean that.” Her attempted apology sounded feeble even to her own ears.

  “I’m going to Port Hope,” Michael announced, turning away from her. “Can I take your car?” Before she could reply, he scooped the keys off the counter.

  “You know your problem, Monica?” He did not look back toward her. “You’re used to getting every goddamned thing you want.” Before she could answer, he walked out the door.

  Monica was furious. How dare he? She was doing her utmost to make a reconciliation, some sort of an arrangement that they all could live happily with, and what had he done? He had scarcely helped or supported her. His arguments for patience and waiting for the right time were merely excuses for not doing anything. He had stormed off to Port Hope when it would have been the perfect day for him to finally see Jasmine, his own daughter. She paced frantically around the room; it felt even tinier than normal. Suddenly, she stopped, and all of the angry energy that was consuming her vanished. She slumped onto the couch and found herself fighting off the tears. What if Michael was right? What if she was pushing too hard? What if Brenda and Michael ended up hating her for it?

  When she looked at the clock, she saw that Michael had been gone for all of twenty minutes. She wanted him back. She would explain; he would understand that this waiting was driving her crazy. She wanted to phone Ruby and tell her everything that had happened and everything that had been said, but she knew that would not do at all. Monica knew, without a doubt, that Ruby would tell her that her situation was of her own making. Basically, that things were her own fault. Her sister would not be wrong.

  Monica tried to go back to sleep. Unlike the pacing, the thinking had exhausted her. She would fall asleep and when she woke up, Michael would be home and this would all be over. After a lot of effort, she finally dozed off for what felt like a few minutes; the clock told her that she had slept for over an hour. She was alone and scared. She could not remember waking up that frightened since the days following the death of her parents. She was afraid that like her parents, Michael would not come back. This did not make sense, and yet she could not shed the sense of impending doom.

  She forced herself to get up and make tea. This wanting to cry, this sinking into self-pity and expecting the sky to fall was ridiculou
s. It was a waste of time and it was beneath her. She had never fallen apart like this when she had argued with Saul. And they had argued a lot. Plus, she could scarcely even call what had occurred between her and Michael an argument. She had unintentionally offended him; that was all that had happened. Even when she had tried, she had never been able to hurt Saul like that.

  She sat, drinking cup after cup of tea. When Michael had been gone for almost three hours — more than enough time to drive to Port Hope and back — she began to panic. What if something had really happened? What if in his anger he had driven off the road or run into another vehicle on one of the single-lane corners?What if it had been a logging truck? Thoughts of her parents continued to blend with her thoughts of Michael.

  “Calm down,” she said out loud. Like a mantra, she repeated “calm, calm, calm.” She took long, deep breaths, and drank more tea.

  When Michael had been gone for four hours, Monica made up her mind to borrow Martin’s truck and go out looking for him. She would wash up and then she would phone Ruby and explain things. Her sister would give her the keys.

  Monica heard the car back up into the single parking space. The curtain was not open, but she heard the distinct sounds of Michael opening her car door and trunk. After a brief feeling of intense relief, she was afraid again. She was scared of what Michael would say and what he would do. She froze and watched the door open. Michael entered with grocery bags.